


Extra

by avantegarda



Series: It's the New World, Darling-A 19th-20th Century AU [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, As Is Right And Proper, Family Drama, Gen, Humor, and half drunk victorian elves yelling at each other, i'd tag this as foreshadowing but i have no idea where any of this is going, technically melkor is not in this but everyone talks about him constantly, this is half srs bzns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 14:45:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avantegarda/pseuds/avantegarda
Summary: Over the course of a disastrous holiday in 1887, Maedhros learns some troubling news and comes face-to-face with a whole host of family secrets.





	1. Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> Slowly but surely I complete my diabolical plan to write a Victorian fic for every single one of the sons of Fëanor. There is nothing that can be done about this.
> 
> I named this story "Extra" for three distinct reasons: the whole breaking-news association, of course, the fact that I'm fairly sure Fëanor thinks of Indis as the extra mother that no one actually needs, and the fact that this entire family is just so. Incredibly. Extra.

There is a legend in my family that when Dad was six years old, he wrote a very well-thought-out letter to the Vatican trying to get Granny Miriel canonized as a saint. Granted, my father has neither confirmed nor denied this, so it’s difficult to tell if it’s true, but I will say that it sounds  _ exactly  _ like something he would do.

To be fair, Dad was hardly the only one who thought Miriel Gates was a saint. We were all raised to adore our dear departed grandmother, despite the fact that none of us had actually met her. Not only was she our father’s mother, a great achievement in itself, she was also the true architect of our family fortune and an absolute paragon of womanly virtue.

Everyone knew the story, of course. In 1835 Grandfather Finwë had fled to Spain with no thought other than to make his rapidly-dwindling inheritance last a bit longer. In Seville, he found cheaper rents, pleasant weather, and a vast assortment of dodgy schemes to unsuccessfully invest in. Until a few years after his arrival, when he stumbled into a convent garden by accident and found a beautiful young woman bending over an embroidery hoop. Her name was Miriel Cosero, she was an orphan who had been raised in the convent, and, to hear Granddad tell it, it was love at first sight.

They married three months later, and Miriel took it upon herself to become not only Granddad’s wife but his business advisor. It was her who suggested that he invest in a diamond mine in South Africa and, when that went well, to buy a ruby mine in Brazil. Within two years their business had expanded so much that Granddad was able to acquire a townhouse in London, a country estate in Surrey, and a knighthood.

Then, in 1841, Miriel died while giving birth to her only son. Granddad mourned for a more-than-proper three years before marrying Lady Indis Fairfax, a woman of impeccable bloodline and manners, and producing two more children, my uncles Fingolfin and Finarfin.

And  _ that  _ is where all the trouble started.

  
  


_ Doubletree Manor, Surrey, 1887 _

 

The trouble with being the eldest, of both my brothers and all the cousins, is that one is frequently called upon to be an example of good behavior for the younger ones. I can generally manage this, under normal circumstances, but on a summer bank holiday weekend when there isn’t a cloud in the sky and I have no work to do for three entire days it’s bloody difficult to be a babysitter.

I quite badly needed a holiday, in truth. Since leaving Oxford three years earlier I had taken up a post as a junior associate in the law firm of Prentis, Prentis, and Prentis in London, with grand ambitions of becoming a partner by my thirtieth birthday. What I hadn’t anticipated was the sheer amount of effort this plan would entail. Month after month of fourteen-hour workdays and painfully low pay were beginning to take their toll on me, and even with the entire extended family hanging about (two grandparents, two parents, four uncles and aunts, and all fifteen of us youngsters) I was more than ready for the break.

It was also an excellent chance to see everyone I’d been too busy to visit for the last few months, particularly my cousin Fingon, who’d been my best mate at school and who had overlapped with me at Oxford for a bit. It was always something of a relief to talk to him, as he was a sensible and easygoing sort of chap and, most importantly, not one of my brothers. 

Granddad’s palatial estate in Surrey had an excellent pond with an abundance of fish, and so on our first morning in the country Fingon and I managed to give the rest of the family the slip and head down to the water with our fishing poles and a large flask of lemonade. It was one of those rare, glorious English summer days with a blazing sun overhead and the faintest of breezes blowing in from the east. Fingon let out a sigh of contentment as we settled into our usual spot on the rickety old jetty.

“Lord, I needed this,” he said. “Do you remember when we were in university and used to be able to spend hours doing nothing? That seems so long ago. I’m fairly certain the last time I had more than two hours free was Easter.”

“You needn’t tell  _ me  _ about being busy, I feel as though I haven’t seen sunlight in three years. Do you suppose we could just stay here and fish the entire holiday? I adore all of our relatives, of course, it’s just  _ talking  _ to them all the time that gets to be a bit much.”

“It’s the same with me,” Fingon groaned. “Father only thinks about investments these days, Turgon’s decided he wants to study architecture and won’t stop talking about that man Eiffel’s new tower they’ve built in Paris, and Mum’s just complaining about how cold and awful English summers are. You’d think that after living here for twenty-five years she’d be accustomed to it.” Fingon’s mother—my aunt Anairë—is originally from India, which explained her disdain for British weather. It caused a bit of a fuss when she and Uncle Fingolfin first took up together, but since her family were from Goa and were just as posh and Catholic as the rest of us any scandal soon blew over.

“Well, Aunt Anairë has very high standards for everything, weather included. But what about you, how is your new position? As glamorous as expected?”

“Oh, you know,” Fingon said with a shrug. “It’s not too bad, working for Granddad. But I can’t say I’d like to be a clerk in the family firm for the rest of my life. I suppose I can always work my way up to something better, but it would be awfully nice to do something different, something where I can travel a bit. How did you decide you wanted to be a lawyer?”

“I just sort of fell into it, really. After spending my entire childhood arguing with all my brothers, winning arguments just became second nature. I do like it though, despite all the long days. It’s very...stimulating work.” This was all perfectly true, though I didn’t tell him that I occasionally woke up at three in the morning with a horrible feeling that everything I was doing in my life was completely wrong.

He would have understood, but I didn’t mention it.

We lapsed into silence then, focused only on the ripples in the water and the occasional nibble on our lines from a fish too small to catch. It wasn’t until we’d drunk nearly the whole flask of lemonade that we heard the clear sound of a bell ringing from the house.

“Must be time for luncheon,” Fingon said, stretching. “Well, I can’t say we’ve have a successful morning’s fishing, but it’s certainly been a relaxing one. Shall we head back? I must say I’ve developed a bit of an appetite.”

My stomach growled embarrassingly before I could reply. We looked at each other and snickered like little boys before packing up our gear and heading back, towards the palatial house that was our grandfather’s pride and joy.

While our family had only owned Doubletree Manor since 1839, it dated back to the time of Henry VIII and was quite astonishingly grand. Made of a warm, rosy brick and seated amid beautifully manicured gardens, it had fifteen bedrooms, an enormous wine cellar, and at least one secret passage we had discovered as children. When Grandfather Finwë had bought the place, he’d had our family crest carved above the main doors: an eight-pointed star surrounded by laurel leaves. And under that, the family motto:  _ What is ours, is ours. _

For some reason it always made me feel a bit guilty, that motto. Guilty and, I’ll admit, proud. The two emotions I usually felt in regards to my family.

Everyone was already gathered around the table by the time we put on our ties and jackets and made it downstairs for luncheon; the adults at one end of the table while the ones young enough to still be in school gathered at the other end. Settling in beside my mother and father, I glanced down the table at my little brothers Amrod and Amras, who were chatting animatedly with our cousin Aegnor. Probably talking about cricket and girls, I thought enviously. Not like at our end of the table, where the conversation had turned to, inexplicably, rubber. Dad was insisting that our family ought to invest in a rubber plantation in Brazil, as he’d heard it was a material with nearly unlimited potential. Uncle Fingolfin didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“I’m sure rubber is fascinating stuff, but it’s simply not in our line of business, Fëanor,” he said. “The Gates family has always been in the jewel trade, you know that.”

“There’s no need to lecture me about the jewel trade, as I’m the only one in the family with any practical experience in it,” Dad returned. “But surely even you can see that the practical applications of a material like rubber. Why, I wager that in twenty years half the objects in this house will use rubber in some way, and if we can get in on the ground floor there’s no telling what it could do for us.”

“It does seem to be worth looking into,” Grandfather Finwë said heartily. “It would be a risk, but it may turn out well. You’ve always had excellent instincts for business, Fëanor, just like your dear mother.”

“I should certainly hope so. Our success is, after all, essentially my mother’s doing.” Dad said this with a sharp look at Granny Indis, who was delicately picking at her cucumber salad and had not contributed to the rubber discussion.

Everyone suddenly seemed to find their cutlery extremely interesting, as they stared resolutely at the table and refused to make eye contact with anyone else.

“I read quite a shocking story in the paper this morning,” Granny Indis trilled, clearly desperate to change the subject. “Would you believe, they’ve released that awful man, the one who was arrested for those horrible robberies a few years back? I can never remember his name, something foreign-sounding. Bungle, perhaps? Bengal?”

“Dear Lord, they’re letting Melkor Bauglir out of prison?” Granddad shook his head. “What on earth is this country coming to? I thought he had been definitively proven guilty. One can tell just by looking at the man.”

“I read about that as well. Evidently they couldn’t prove he was the one behind the whole thing and not that dreadful Russian woman who worked with him,” Uncle Fingolfin put in. “The one they called the Spider. Nasty piece of work, that one.”

“Ungoliant Molotov. Oh, yes I remember her from the papers all right,” Aunt Anairë said with a shudder. “That horrible eyepatch, and those fingernails...the stuff of nightmares, really.”

“The Prime Minister seems to agree with you. He’s convinced she was the mastermind, says Mr. Bauglir’s quite a reformed character. Given him a complete pardon,” said Uncle Fingolfin. “Though they’re not likely to catch the Spider now, apparently she’s in hiding in Siberia…”

“Prime Minister or not, Manwë Sulimo’s an old windbag,” Dad snorted. “The man’s been losing his touch for years. Does he think releasing infamous criminals is going to win him votes?”

“Now, dear, you really oughtn’t to speak of your Prime Minister like that,” said Granny Indis, tapping her fan nervously on the table. “One may not agree with him, of course, but one ought to show him some respect, I think.”

Dad shot her a look that nearly made my blood run cold. “Should I, Indis?” he asked quietly. “And why, may I ask, is that? A person may be elected—or marry—to a certain position, but that does not by necessity make them worthy of respect.”

The tension was so thick one could have cut the air with a knife. Every person at the table stared at Dad in shock, hoping against hope we were imagining things, that Dad had not just insulted both his stepmother and our beloved Prime Minister in one sentence. I desperately wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t think of a single phrase that wouldn’t make things even worse.

Thank all the saints for Maglor, who had spent most of the meal scribbling absentmindedly on one of the expensive linen napkins and chose that moment to exclaim “Dear God, I’m a  _ genius! _ ” and leap up from the table. Noticing our surprised looks, he rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes, yes, I was paying attention. Politics and crime and all the rest, fascinating stuff. Excuse me, won’t you?” He stuffed the napkin in his waistcoat pocket and hurried away, whistling cheerfully.

“Goodness,” said Aunt Earwen with a chuckle. “Is he always like that?”

“Oh, no,” said Mum seriously. “Sure, sometimes he’s asleep.”

Everyone had a good laugh at that—though I couldn’t help but notice that, while everyone was distracted, Dad had disappeared from the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any of you who got the Manwë/windbag joke, comment with your address and I'll send you an envelope of cash and cigarettes as a reward.


	2. Reveal

“Have you noticed,” Fingon remarked to me later that evening, when a few of us youngsters had sneaked off to the village pub, “that this particular holiday seems to be fraught with more tension than most?”

“I have, and considering our family that’s saying quite a bit,” I replied, taking a long swig of freshly-brewed cider and glancing around the pub. As was usual when we were all here, my brothers and cousins had taken up half of the place and were both doubling its annual revenue and making complete nuisances of themselves. Maglor and Celegorm were both fiercely flirting with the pretty freckled barmaid, who looked quite flustered, while Finrod and Turgon had produced a chessboard from somewhere and were playing intensely over a bottle of wine (Aredhel sat next to them and occasionally switched their pieces around when they weren’t looking). “Such a shame about the whole thing, really. We so rarely get a chance to all see each other, now that most of us are grown up. And along comes our parents’ generation to ruin everything with their ridiculous feuds over their mothers. Not to disrespect Granny Miriel’s memory, of course.”

“Of course not,” said Fingon. “Listen...I want to make it very plain that even though Granny Indis may not be your real grandmother, she loves you and your brothers very much. She’s never said...I mean, I don’t think she makes a bit of distinction between you lot and the rest of us. Not a bit.”

“Of course I know that,” I said, with some irritation. “Do you think  _ I  _ take any issue with Granny Indis? She’s the only grandmother any of us have known and all of us are dashed fond of her, you know. It’s Father who resents her, not me. Why on earth would you think otherwise?”

Fingon looked a bit hurt. “Well, old chap, I just thought…”

“I suppose you thought Dad had convinced us to hate his evil stepmother?” He looked down at his feet, shamefaced, which told me all I needed to know. “You did, didn’t you. Bloody hell, Finn, we’re supposed to be best mates, I thought you knew me better than that.” 

“Now, see here…”

Before he could finish, I stood abruptly (trying and failing not to stumble—the cider must have been stronger than I’d thought) and made my way up to the bar. If I stayed, I knew for a fact punches would start to be thrown, and I couldn’t risk that.

Celegorm seemed to have dropped out of the barmaid-seducing competition; he and Aredhel, both thoroughly tipsy, were now playing an extremely dangerous-looking game of darts on the other side of the room. The barmaid, meanwhile, was busy making sheep’s eyes at Maglor and fiddling with the velvet collar of his jacket.

“Say ‘mademoiselle’ again,” she ordered.

Maglor grinned wolfishly. “ _ Mademoiselle. _ ”

“Ooh, that is lovely. Say ‘pianoforte.’”

“Pianoforte.”

“My stars, I could listen to you all night. Say…”

“Awfully sorry to interrupt the elocution lesson,” I cut in, “but I find myself in need of another pint of cider. In fact, make it two. I’m having a difficult evening.”

“He’ll have  _ one _ pint of cider, and I will have the other one,” Maglor corrected. “Really, Maedhros, I know you’re no lightweight but one has to be careful with this stuff. I’m one pint in and I’ve already forgotten all the Italian I ever learned.”

“Aria, prima donna, pasta. Now can you please stop babying me? That’s supposed to be my job.” I sighed and slumped against the bar. “It’s  _ always  _ my bloody job.” Glancing over toward where I’d been sitting, I noticed Fingon was gone—he’d probably stormed out after I shouted at him.

“Ah, poor wee laddie,” Maglor chuckled, standing and putting an arm around my shoulder (with a bit of effort, as I was some seven inches taller than him). “Come along, we’ll go sit down and you can tell me everything that’s upsetting you. Mildred, my love, we’ll need those drinks at the table in the corner. Celegorm!” he called across the room. “Stop trying to impale people and come sit with us, we’re commiserating.”

“Since when do you order everyone around?”

“Since Dad gave me a middle name that means ‘the bossy one,’ of course.” Maglor flung himself gracefully into a chair, followed a moment later by a disheveled and irked-looking Celegorm.

“Right, what’s the bloody emergency this time? I’ll have you know I was winning over there,” he groused. 

“Oh, is  _ winning _ what you want to call it?” Maglor retorted. “If you ask me  _ stumbling  _ is more like it.”

“I’m not even  _ speaking  _ to you, after what you pulled over there with Mildred, you barely even  _ speak  _ French…”

“Boys,” I said, suddenly exhausted. “I appreciate the effort, but arguing like children is not exactly cheering me up. Everyone around here seems to hate one another, I’ve somehow managed to horribly offend my best friend, and frankly I’m beginning to wish I spent the holiday in London reading legal briefs. If you have any genuinely helpful advice, I would be delighted to hear it, but otherwise I think I may as well just go back to the house.”

“Like hell you are. We are going to solve this the way I solve all of my problems,” Celegorm declared.

“Which is?”

“Order an entire bottle of Scotch and drink until we can’t sit up.”

“Now that,” I said, “is a thoroughly brilliant solution.”

 

I must have made it home somehow at the end of the night, for I awoke the next morning to the parlor clock chiming six and the sun just beginning to stream through the windows. Taking stock of my situation, I discovered that I was curled up in a large armchair directly in front of the fireplace, I had the beginnings of a throbbing headache, and my left ankle ached terribly for some reason. Evidently Celegorm’s advice had been successful, as I couldn’t remember anything that had happened after the third Scotch.

Despite my various aches and pains, the urge to sleep was much stronger than the need for a headache powder and a cold compress, and thus I closed my eyes, kicked off my (shockingly muddy) shoes, and fell into a fitful doze.

It was not long, however, before I was woken yet again—this time by the sound of footsteps and quiet voices from directly behind me. I briefly wondered if I should get out of the chair and say good morning, though I was fairly certain that if I tried to stand up I would die.

“...and why you’re in such a terrible temper I simply can’t understand, dear,” came Mum’s familiar Irish lilt. “‘Tis even worse than usual this time and your poor father looks absolutely miserable.”

“Surely, Nell, you realize that is between my father and myself.” That voice I recognized as well; it was the one Dad used when he was trying very hard not to shout. “And I can’t think why we needed to discuss this in the parlor rather than in our own bedroom.”

“Because the twins are across the hall from us, and I’ll not be waking them up if we have a row. Growing boys need their sleep.”

“You do baby those two, Nerdanel. They’re thirteen, they’re barely children anymore.”

“Don’t you go changing the subject on me, Fëanor Gates,” Mum said warningly. “I’m asking why you’ve been so hostile towards poor Lady Indis for the last few days. Yes, I’m perfectly aware the pair of you don’t get on, but we’re on holiday, can you not  _ relax? _ ”

“Relax?” There was a frantic note in Dad’s voice I’d almost never heard before. “How can I relax, now that I know  _ he’s  _ back on the loose?”

There was a brief, strained silence, before Mum said softly, “He won’t try again, Fëanor. He knows now that there’s no point in trying to get you on his side.”

“I wish I could believe that. But I’m on the verge of a major breakthrough, Nell, and as soon as I’m successful—the  _ minute _ he finds out—he’ll be back on our doorstep again. And I’m honestly worried for the children’s safety if I say no again.”

Mum’s voice, when she replied, was quiet but fierce. “We won’t let him get anywhere near the children. The first time he tries anything, we’ll be ready. He won’t lay a finger on our family.”

Dad let out a sigh, and there was a silence once again before I heard the sound of their footsteps moving away. I, meanwhile, stayed in my chair, now completely awake and thoroughly shaken.

 

Out of respect for the terrible hangovers Maglor and Celegorm were bound to be nursing, I waited until noon to knock on all my brothers’ doors and demand they join me in my bedroom for a family meeting. They all straggled in shortly after, Celegorm accompanied by his Irish wolfhound Huan, who had doubled in size over the previous five years and was now the size of a large Shetland pony.

“All right,” I said, when everyone had found seats. “First order of business. Does anyone happen to know how my ankle was injured last night?”

“I do,” volunteered Celegorm. “You wagered me a guinea last night that you could beat me in a race from the pub to the house.”

“Ah. Did I win?”

“You did not. You got your foot stuck in a hole and fell down.”

“In that case, remind me later that I owe you a guinea. Second order of business. I am about to say a sentence that has never been uttered in the history of our family: Dad is frightened.”

“Don’t you mean frightening?” Amras piped up. 

“Surprisingly, no.” Quickly I filled them in on everything I had overheard that morning. “This Melkor fellow—he’s been in prison since we were children so I can’t say I remember much about him. But if he’s got Dad rattled, he must be a special breed of terrible. Yes, Curufin?” For my third-youngest brother had just raised his hand as though he was in the schoolroom.

“I feel I ought to inform you that Dad would be furious with you for eavesdropping and I have every intention to blackmail you about this later,” Curufin said with a smirk.

“If you feel you must, I suppose. Has anyone got anything useful to say?”

“Frankly, I’m baffled,” Maglor said with a yawn. “It would be helpful to have some context for these remarks of Dad’s. For one thing, what did he mean by ‘show up on our doorstep again’?”

“Er,” said Caranthir. “I think I may know.”

As usual, he flushed bright red when we all turned to look at him, but with an encouraging nod from me he continued. “Well...I don’t recall all the details because I was only five at the time, but I do remember it was a day when all you lot were off at school and I had to answer the door because Mum was too busy looking after the new babies. So I answered the door and there was this man there—big bloke, long mustache—and he asked could he see Dad. So I let him in, and I’m not sure what happened next as I was sent out of the room, but I do seem to remember there was shouting and Dad slammed the door very loudly at the end.” Caranthir shrugged awkwardly. “That may be useful information, I don’t know.”

I glanced around quickly for the previous day’s newspaper, eventually finding it under one of Huan’s giant paws. Sure enough, staring out from the front page was the Mr. Bauglir himself, a ferocious-looking man with dark hair, wild eyes, and a very long mustache. “All right,” I said, tossing the paper to Caranthir. “Look  _ very closely  _ and tell me if that’s the same person you remember talking to Dad. It’s all right if you’re not sure, but…”

“No, that’s him,” Caranthir said firmly. “Without a doubt. Of course, he was much younger back then, and he looked a bit more sane, but that’s the chap who came to the door, I’m certain.”

“So, an infamous criminal came calling on Dad thirteen years ago. I can’t say I’m entirely surprised,” Celegorm said, “but the real question is, why?”

“Oh,” Curufin exclaimed. “ _ Oh! _ It makes perfect sense.” He glanced irritably around at our uncomprehending faces. “Well, isn’t it obvious? This Melkor character tried to get Dad involved in one of his schemes before—probably trying to get Dad to invent him a new kind of silent explosive, something like that—but Dad refused, obviously. And now that he’s out of jail, Dad’s worried he’ll come up with an even worse scheme and blackmail us into helping him or some such.”

We all glanced at one another nervously. As horrible as it was to contemplate, Curufin’s theory was painfully logical. It certainly seemed to fit the evidence.

“That may well be the case, as little as I like to imagine it,” Maglor said at last. “But it doesn’t explain everything. I personally would like to know what this ‘major breakthrough’ is that Maedhros said Dad mentioned. It had better not be a trilingual opera, because that’s  _ my  _ idea.”

“I can almost guarantee that it is not, as that’s a terrible idea,” replied Curufin, “but otherwise I’m afraid I’m as much in the dark as the rest of you. I suppose now that all of us are either in school or grown up Dad finally has time to devote himself to breaking every law of nature.”

“I hope it’s a time machine,” said Amrod brightly. “Or a hot-air balloon that can go to the moon.”

“Surely we would have noticed if Dad was building a hot-air balloon?”

“Not if it wasn’t blown up yet, Amras.”

Celegorm cleared his throat loudly. “Look, lads, we’d all love a time-traveling hot-air balloon, myself especially, but the question remains: now that we know all this, what exactly are we to  _ do? _ ”

And, of course, every eye immediately turned to me.

“Well, that is the trouble,” I said slowly. “At the moment, there may not be much any of us  _ can  _ do. Except for the obvious, of course.”

“Surely you’ve realized by now that nothing is obvious to us,” Maglor drawled.

“We need to stay vigilant,” I explained. “Dad doesn’t need to know that we know about this...it’s likely better if he does not. But we have got to keep our eyes open at all times, now that we know what might happen. And at the first sign of trouble, we’ve got to be willing to fight back. Agreed?”

After a moment, everyone nodded solemnly. No jokes, no questions this time—for once, every single one of my brothers seemed to appreciate the gravity of the situation.

“Very well. End of meeting. And remember: we never had this conversation. Not a word of it.”


	3. Restart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliation attempts are made, kids get drunk, deep conversations are had. The usual, really.

I was pleased that we had a better idea of what was going on with our father, though frankly it didn’t seem to solve any of the other problems around the house. After our drunken argument the previous night, Fingon still wasn’t speaking to me, and turned in the opposite direction whenever we ran into one another in the hall. Father, meanwhile, had all but disappeared, taking his meals in his room and muttering darkly when anyone spoke to him. With a distinct lack of anyone to go fishing or riding with, I wound up spending the afternoon playing bridge with Mum and my aunts, all of whom seemed to be trying very hard to make the best of a bad situation.

“Say, Mum,” I asked at the end of the game, when Aunt Anairë had thoroughly beaten us both. “Have you seen Granny Indis at all today? I was hoping to talk to her.”

I wasn’t certain exactly where the idea had come from, but I had a feeling that now the meeting with my brothers was over, talking things over with my grandmother was the next step in getting things sorted out. Or so I hoped.

Mum gave me an odd look. “I think she’s still in her bedroom, love. Is everything all right?”

“That’s...a difficult question to answer. But thank you.”

Granny Indis was indeed in her bedroom, sitting in front of her vanity table in a stiff blue dress with her graying blonde hair down around her shoulders. She looked a bit disheveled, and it was odd and almost disturbing to think that in all the time I’d known my grandmother, I had never once seen her with a hair out of place.

“Granny?” I said tentatively.

She raised her head and looked at me with tired eyes. “Oh, hello, Maedhros. I’m all right, dear, no need to worry. You may go, I’m sure there are lots of things you would much rather be doing with your time.”

“Not particularly, no,” I said. “I haven’t seen you all day...are you sure there isn’t anything wrong, Granny?”

“I don’t think you ought to call me that anymore, dear,” Granny Indis said firmly. There was a hardness to her eyes I hadn’t seen before.

“Call you what?”

“Granny.” She took a sharp, pained breath. “After all, I am not truly your grandmother by blood, and it’s not...it’s not correct, now that you boys are no longer children. I have given it quite a bit of thought.”

“Why are you saying this now?” I looked at her furiously. “Did Father say something to you? Something else, I mean.”

“No, no, not in so many words. But everything that has happened these last few days...well, it’s woken me up a bit, I suppose. I really did want to be your grandmother, since you’d lost your own—I thought surely Miriel couldn’t love you all any more than I do. And I do love you, all of you, so very much. But it was wrong of me to try to replace Miriel. I only hope you and your father and brothers can forgive me someday for...for disrespecting her memory.”

“Granny,” I said frankly, “with all due respect, that is utter nonsense.”

She looked shocked. “Pardon?”

“Look, Miriel is dead. She died many years ago, and none of us ever met her, not even Father while he could still remember. And while I know she was clever and talented and kind and I’m certain she would have made a wonderful grandmother to all of us, the fact remains that she never had the chance to do so.  _ You  _ did. And you’ve done a damned fine job, pardon my language.”

Indis shook her head. “I appreciate that, dear, but…”

“But nothing. Look, I can’t promise Dad will ever accept you as his mother,” I went on. “Unfortunately that ship seems to have sailed a long time ago. What I can promise is that the kind of things Dad has been saying to you—you will never hear anything like that from me, nor from my brothers if I have anything to say about it. You are  _ our grandmother.  _ And we love you.”

Granny Indis looked up at me with such gratitude I could feel my face turning red. “You’re a good boy, Maedhros,” she said, patting me on the arm. “A good, kind boy. I shouldn’t say this, but you’ve always been one of my favorite grandchildren.”

I pulled her into a tight hug so she couldn’t see how fiercely I was blushing. “Don’t be silly, Granny. Say, that’s another reason I’m glad we have you—it’s thanks to you we have all our cousins. And while I often feel there are entirely too many of them, I will say I genuinely enjoy having them about.”

“Oh, yes, I know how fond you are of dear Fingon,” Granny said with a chuckle. “I remember all the trouble you used to get into as children. Have you been having a nice time together, on your holiday?”

“Er...yes,” I said, disentangling myself from the hug. “Actually, Granny, you’ve just reminded me there’s something I need to take care of. But don’t worry about Father. He...he has his own things to sort out that have nothing to do with you. It isn’t your fault.”

And I set out on the next part of my mission.

 

After some time searching around the house, I finally discovered Fingon in the library, nose buried in a collection of Edgar Allan Poe stories. He glanced up briefly when I entered, before deliberately turning back to the book.

“Hello, Fingon. All right?”

“Hmm,” he replied, still not looking up.

“I just spoke to Granny,” I said. “She was quite upset, but I think I managed to smooth things over.”

“I see.”

“Look. Finn,” I said. “I’m awfully sorry about everything. To be honest, with the way my side of the family has been behaving, particularly Father, I’m not surprised you thought I was just as bad. I was, probably. You’ve every right to be annoyed with me.”

“I wasn’t annoyed with you about how your father was acting, you ass,” Fingon said affably, setting down his book and standing up. “I was annoyed because you were being a thin-skinned little boy and assuming I was slandering you. I trust you’ve gotten over it by now?”

“One can only hope so. We’ll have to see.” I sighed. “I do wish I could patch things up between Dad and Granny Indis, but that seems to be beyond my abilities. I expect we’ll have to settle for patching things up between us cousins. Friends?”

“Friends,” said Fingon, clapping me on the back. “Us eldest ones have got to stick together, you know, to keep all the children in line. Speaking of which, I believe I hear some suspicious-sounding laughter coming from my sister’s room...shall we go see what trouble they’re all getting into now?”

“I’d be delighted.”

Upon opening the door to Aredhel’s room, we discovered a whole host of our young relations sprawled out on the bed, floor, and various chairs, while Aredhel herself was acting as barmaid, pouring out glasses of a strong-smelling bright green liquid.

“Is that  _ absinthe? _ Where on earth did you find it?” asked Fingon, sounding both shocked and amused.

“In the cellar,” Aredhel replied with a grin. “My theory is that some dissolute guest brought it for a house party and Granny and Granddad were too polite to get rid of it, but they will never drink it either. Surely the responsible thing to do is dispose of it for them.”

Maglor laughed. “Lord, it’s dangerous stuff, this. Last time I drank absinthe I tried to put my piano in my pocket.”

“What sort of parties do  _ you  _ go to?” Curufin asked, a grudging note of respect in his voice.

“Theatre ones, of course. Anyway, what are you doing in here? You’re far too young to be drinking.”

“I’m sixteen, and a prodigy. I’ll wager I can hold my liquor better than you can any day.”

“Oh, hush up and drink, you two,” Aredhel snapped, pouring out generous measures of the foul stuff into what were clearly Granny Indis’ prized Venetian glasses. “Finn, Maedhros, are you joining us or are you far too dignified for that?”

I held up a hand. “None for me, thank you. I think I’ve been hung-over enough recently.”

“Oh, go on, old boy,” said Fingon, grinning. “I think we’ve been responsible enough for one holiday, don’t you?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

 

“Absinthe,” declared Caranthir some time later, “is disgusting and I loathe it.”

“You’ve said that three times in the last hour, and yet you are still drinking,” slurred Turgon from his undignified position halfway under the bed. “I personally do  _ not  _ think this stuff is very strong. I’ve had plenty and I don’t feel affracted at all. I mean, affracted.  _ Affracted _ .”

“Once upon a time,” said Finrod sonorously, “we all thought Turgon was much cleverer than the rest of us. Those days are done. Amen.”

“I’ll pray to Saint Thaddeus for your lost brains, Turgon dear,” offered Maglor, who was sitting upside-down in an armchair. “Patron saint of lost causes. Always works for me.”

“ _ You’re  _ the patron saint of lost causes,” snickered Celegorm, halfheartedly throwing a crumpled-up piece of paper in Maglor’s general direction.

“If you two start fighting again I am going to  _ throw myself out of the window, _ ” Aredhel declared.

“Noooo,” Fingon said, trying and failing to suppress a laugh. “Who will make me look calm and decent in comparison if my darling sister perishes?”

“Everyone else in this room, brother dear.”

“Have you ever noticed,” I asked the room in general, “what an excellent time we all have together when our parents are not around? Maybe we ought to stay in here forever. “

“Shh, don’t say things like that in front of Curufin,” Caranthir stage-whispered. “You know how upset he gets when someone disparages Dad.”

“Curufin,” I said, “is asleep. Or possibly dead.” I inspected my little brother, who was curled up on the rug with his thumb in his mouth like a toddler. “No, definitely asleep. So much for being a drinking prodigy.”

“You know, I can’t picture Dad ever passing out from drink,” Celegorm said thoughtfully. “And yet he must have gotten into trouble like we do, when he was younger. Isn’t it odd to think about?”

“What’s truly odd is thinking about Grandfather Finwë being our age. All young and irresponsible and heading off to Spain with barely any money in his pocket. “

“And what’s even odder,” Finrod put in, “is thinking that if he  _ hadn’t  _ headed off to Spain while young and irresponsible, it’s very likely that none of us would ever have been born. And what a terrible world  _ that  _ would be!”

“Kismet,” Maglor said vaguely.

“Kis...what?”

“Kismet. Turkish for destiny. What is meant to be, will be.” The last few words he sang, beautifully, albeit to the tune of “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

“Funny thing to contemplate, destiny,” Aredhel remarked. “Like all those heroes in the Greek plays who couldn’t avoid marrying their sisters or killing their cousins or what have you. They had to, because of destiny. I hope that never happens to us.”

“Nonsense. Our destiny is to be Europe’s best and brightest, everyone knows that,” said Celegorm. “But on the off chance we  _ are  _ destined to kill any of our kin, you’re last on my list, ‘Del, absolutely dead last. And  _ you, _ ” he said to Maglor, who was absentmindedly humming, “are  _ first. _ ”

“They’re arguing again,” Fingon yawned, leaning sleepily against my shoulder.

“Well, yes,” I replied with a grin. “That’s what we all do.”

(Oddly enough, when we all awoke the next morning, no one seemed to have any dreadful hangovers. With the exception, of course, of poor little drinking prodigy Curufin)

 

“You know,” Maglor remarked to me on the train back to London the next day, “you won’t be able to keep doing this forever.”

I didn’t bother to look up from one of the legal briefs I had been deliberately neglecting over the course of the holiday. I may not have gotten to sleep until three o’clock the previous evening, but that was no excuse for being negligent. “Hmm? Keep doing what?”

“Trying to keep the entire family together and at peace. It’s a noble aim, of course, but I have a nasty feeling it won’t be possible for much longer.”

I paused, before replying, glancing around the compartment thoughtfully. We were surrounded by our relatives, laughing and talking and bickering. Curufin and Dad were deep in conversation over some scientific book, while Mum and a much happier-looking Granny Indis played cards with the aunts. Aredhel and Celegorm were throwing bits of paper at the twins, who had fallen asleep, curled up together on their seat. Outside the window, the countryside rolled by in a green-and-gold blur. It was difficult to believe, looking around at this peaceful scene, that anything could go wrong anymore. But that, of course, was almost certainly an illusion.

“Maybe not,” I said at last. “But I can’t stop trying, you know. I’m the eldest, and that is my job.”

And I returned to my work, as the train sped on, carrying us back home.


End file.
